November Twenty Ninth
by tigershatecinammon
Summary: Kurt mourns the loss of his mother and Puck is there to defend him from the bullies that don't care what day it is. Third in the Conscience Verse. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Welcome to Part III of the Conscience Verse. This is quickly growing more than I thought, as I already have Parts IV and V planned out. This particular story will be a _two-shot_, so keep your eyes open if you're following the Verse. Reading Nobody and Rejected before this will make more sense.

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November twenty-ninth was a quiet day in the Hummel house, as usual. Kurt woke up early, did his morning routine, and sat down with his father for breakfast. Burt had a bowl of cereal and Kurt had a grapefruit. Both had coffee in front of them; one of the few things they had in common was their inability to function without it.

After breakfast, they parted; Kurt to school and Burt to his wife's grave before heading into the shop. Kurt would be quiet and withdrawn all day, and there would be a paleness to his face, a closed off look in his eyes. It would tell his friends he didn't want to talk, and they always respected it and kept their distance, despite not knowing why. He would stop to visit his mom after school and talk to her, sing to her, and catch up on his life without her; the one he never wanted.

As Kurt parked, he gave a cursory glance to check for jocks. On today of all days, he didn't want to have to pick garbage off his clothes. However, when he got out of the car, they seemed to materialize, one in front of him and one behind, and they led him to the dumpster. "Get off of me," Kurt snapped, unable to help himself. It was the anniversary of his mother's _death_ for Christ's sake. Couldn't they leave him alone for just one day?

Apparently not, because his comment got him tossed up and over before he could blink or shove his bag at someone, and his head collided painfully with the side of the metal. He raised himself up slightly to peek over the edge, noting with surprise that Puck was not among the group of laughing jocks that walked away from him. Instead, Puck was in front of the side entrance, looking towards the dumpster. Kurt was too far away to see his expression, but he looked tense, and he was walking towards him.

He was feeling a little dizzy from the knock to the head he'd received, and he struggled as he tried to get out. Suddenly, there were tan, calloused hands on his wrists, pulling him up and over. As he stood in front of Puck, the jock frowned slightly. "What?" Kurt asked shortly, flicking a piece of lettuce off of his shoulder. "I need to get changed, and wash my hair before I'm late for homeroom."

"You're bleeding," Puck stated calmly, pressing a fingertip to the spot Kurt had whacked. "How hard did you land?"

"Hard enough to bleed, apparently," Kurt answered, flinching slightly, but the venom was gone from his voice, leaving only defeat. "I need to get cleaned up. Move."

Puck got out of his way, and Kurt carried on proudly, head high as always. Puck watched him go, wondering, not for the first time, just how Hummel got by.

Kurt somehow made it through the day. He was sure that Puck had..._persuaded_ the jocks to leave him alone, but he didn't know why. He didn't really care, to be honest. In Glee, he sat by himself, practically catatonic. Puck had threatened anyone that attempted to talk to him with a slushie, including Mr. Schuester.

When Puck had looked up Grace Hummel's death, he'd found that today was the anniversary of when she'd finally succumbed to the cancer. The obituary had been brief but obviously heartfelt. After Glee, Puck sidled up to Kurt and shifted from foot to foot, unsure of how to word what he wanted to say without sounding crass.

"There's this jock going around threatening people that talk to me," Kurt muttered, the first sentence he'd said since that morning.

"Well, I bet I could take him," Puck announced, flashing his guns before he adopted a serious expression. "Have you been to see her yet?"

Kurt shook his head. "No."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Stop being so overly nice, Noah. It's kind of creepy. I forgive you, okay? You didn't know," Kurt snapped, standing and making to push his way past the jock. Puck grabbed his wrist.

"I don't do things to be nice, Hummel. I do them because I want to. I know what it's like to lose a parent. Not the way you have, but I've lost my dad, a long time ago. So I know how you feel." With that, he released Kurt's wrist and made his way to the choir room door, hoping against hope.

"Noah. Wait," the small voice came from behind him, and he turned, raising an eyebrow. "Come with me."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Hey guys, welcome to the second part of this two-shot. I had to throw in some hurt!Kurt, because it's my favorite thing _ever_. As always, please read and review; they keep me going. Let me know if you want to see something specific in this verse via PM and maybe I'll make it happen.(:

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The grave site was nice. There was a thin layer of flurries on the ground, and the wind was chilly, but there were still fresh flowers on Grace Hummel's grave, and her headstone was a decent sized white marble with the words: _Grace Hummel: Always Missed. _There were no dates of life or death, and Puck wondered why. Kurt placed the flowers he'd stopped to buy on the ground in front of the headstone, and then, to Puck's utter surprise, sank to the ground next to them, heedless of the mud seeping into the knees of his designer jeans.

"Hey, Mom," Kurt began quietly. "I know it's been a long time since I've come to see you. I'm sorry. It's just, you know how hard it is for me. I've been kind of busy with school, and Glee Club. And I know that you know what happened last week with Uncle Dylan. Don't worry about it, okay? I'm over it; it doesn't matter anymore. And he hasn't come around since Dad threatened to shoot him in the face the next time he showed it." Kurt smiled softly, and Puck found himself wondering what Kurt was talking about, before deciding he probably didn't want to know.

"He said he wanted to 'bond'," Kurt continued, "and I can't help but think that you must've been really busy not to hear me calling for you. He laughed at me, you know. Because I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough." Puck started to feel a little nauseous and dropped down on his knees next to Kurt, who seemed to finally remember he wasn't alone. The stinging cold had turned his cheeks red, and he lowered his eyes from Puck's searching gaze.

"Mom, this is Noah. We go to school together. I know I've told you about him before, but he's changed. I think he might even be a good person underneath the persona he's built around himself." This was said with a small twitch of Kurt's lips, and Puck elbowed him lightly.

Kurt spoke for a few more moments before he stood, pushing past Puck on his way back to the car. Puck trudged after him, eyes downcast and troubled. When they were in the car and reasonably warmed up, Puck pounced.

"Kurt?"

"Hm?" the smaller boy said, examining his nails.

"What were you talking about? Who's Uncle Dylan and what did he do?"

"That's none of your business," Kurt answered strangely, eyes flashing. No, no, _no_. What was wrong with him? Uncle Dylan would be furious if someone began hanging around; he'd be in so much trouble and _no_.

"You were talking about it in front of me," Puck said steadily, "so obviously you didn't want to keep it to yourself."

Kurt broke, slumping against the door of the truck, head bowed and thin shoulders shaking slightly. "He's my uncle," he murmured into his sleeve, so quiet Puck almost didn't hear him. He didn't interrupt for fear of sending Kurt back into silence. "He was my mom's brother, and he never liked me. He told me I was the queerest looking baby he ever saw. I guess now he knows why." The small boy laughed without humor.

"I don't know why he's so prejudiced. I never met the rest of Mom's family, but from what I remember of her, she was the kindest woman in the world. Maybe I'm biased, but still. She would've still loved me." Kurt took a slow breath. "Uncle Dylan drinks. And sometimes when he drinks, he blames me for Mom's cancer. I don't know why or how, but he rationalizes it and then he hits me. It's not often and it's not like I see him enough for it to bother me, it just got kind of out of hand last time. It's not a big deal, Puck."

And when Noah heard his nickname coming from Kurt's lips he knew that Kurt was shutting him out. "It's not okay Kurt. How can you brush that off?"

"The same way I brush off what you do to me. What Karofsky and Azimio do. Because I'm stronger than that. I can handle myself, Puck. I'm going to get out of here one day and never see any of the people who tormented me again, unless they're cleaning my septic tank."

Frowning at the small boy, Puck hesitantly reached over and placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder. The soprano didn't shrug it off, so Puck figured this was okay. "Kurt, I'm really sorry for everything I did to you."

"I know," Kurt answered, a small, sad smile on his face.


End file.
